


Smoke And Shadows

by Loeka



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:49:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4632756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loeka/pseuds/Loeka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Then why <em>Illusive Man</em>?”</p><p>“It was a name given to me a long time ago by people who knew nothing about me. I decided to keep the title. You'd be amazed how useful it is to be thought of as male, it creates so many... interesting opportunities.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Inconspicuous Meeting

 

_“The Illusive Man is waiting for you in the other room.”_

Miranda's words seemed to echo through John Shepard's mind as he walked down the stairs. This entire day had been one violent roller coaster of confusion after another and John needed answers desperately. Waking up, after being certain he wouldn't, had been his first shock, if one he was incredibly grateful for. But learning it had been two whole years? That he'd been clinically dead? That it was _Cerberus_ who'd saved him?

John needed answers, and by all that was holy, he was going to get them. When the doors in front of him opened, smooth, quiet and screaming of money, he was ready. Back straight, chin up, he marched inside – and faltered.

The room was empty.

Hesitating only a moment, eyes instantly scanning the space, John cautiously moved forward. Was this some kind of joke? Or test? Because after the day he'd just had, John was _not_ in the mood and the emptiness of the room seemed to exist for no other reason then to mock him.

John reached the center of the small... he called it room, but in all actuality it was no more then a very large closet. The lack of windows, furniture or decorations only reinforced the impression. He took one last look around in the vain hope something would change. John clenched his teeth, pushing down his rage at being yanked along and spun on his heel, ready to head back and give that oh so composed miss perfect a piece of his mind.

Of course that was the moment the lights shut down.

John stopped, hands reaching for his rifle before his mind could catch up, the feeling of cold metal snapping his awareness back. Fingers caressed his weapon lightly, but John forced himself not to draw it as holographic interfaces started dancing along previously empty walls. His patience was rewarded.

Slowly the virtual lattice started to fade, another room appearing instead. A dark, open space, so big the end was impossible to see, the floor a warm, flickering red, illuminated by an unseen source.

“Commander Sheppard.”

The voice wasn't what he'd expected to hear and slowly – cautiously – John tuned around. The first thing he saw was the giant dieing star.

It was impossible to see anything beyond the violent spectacle of red, blue and every imaginable shade of color in between dominating the entirety of his vision. The detail as so exquisite, so breathtakingly life-like, it hijacked John's brain and made him stop and stare at all the pretty. Which is why it took him a moment to realize the gorgeous tableau was broken by a single high-backed chair standing right in the middle of his sight, the star's light casting long shadows, both obscuring and drawing attention to this single piece of furniture.

A small light winked into existence, gentle orange glow illuminating the person astride the chair for a single breath before it flitted away, a slow exhale following, lazy trails of smoke curving upwards.

“Illusive Man?” John's reply was wary, he couldn't help it. Whatever he'd been expecting it wasn't this.

His eyes tried to pierce the darkness again, certain his senses must've been wrong, probably still added from... whatever had been done to him – _don't think about it -_ But with the star as his only illumination it was impossible to make out anything about the person hidden within it's shadows.  
Except for two cold cybernetic eyes, lit from within.

“I thought we'd be meeting face-to-face.” He continued, still cautious.

His reply was a husky chuckle, laced with genuine amusement.

“A necessary precaution.” The voice was too high. “Not unusual for people who know what you and I know.”

There was something seductive about that voice. Mischievous, playful and full of hidden laughter, it invited you to come closer, to share in the secret. It was also undeniably female.

John felt his momentarily forgotten rage rise back to the surface. This time he let it.

“Cut the crap!” He bit out, voice harsh, fists clenched with the desire to punch something. “I was told the Illusive Man had answers, and by God he's going to give them to me. No more games!”

The last words were shouted, ripped from his throat as the events of the last day finally caught up with him. Suddenly it all crashed down, too much, the flood drowning, making him gasp and wheeze – oh God, he couldn't breath, he couldn't _don't think about_ – John closed his eyes.

He focused on his breathing, the beating of his heart, the tension thrumming through muscles. This was real, he was inside – he was _safe_ – and he needed to _calm down right now soldier!_ John calmed down.

He didn't move, kept his eyes closed as he ruthlessly squashed down the emotions – the memories – threatening to choke him. Forced the tremors running along his traitorous body to still. John managed. Barely, but he did.

And when he finally let loose a last deep breath he opened his eyes to find the Illusive Man sitting in the exact same spot, those too blue eyes dissecting him, as if he was a particularly interesting specimen. But she didn't say anything and somehow that made it even worse.

“Well?” He demanded after he was sure his voice wouldn't break.

In response the woman took another deep drag – high cheekbones, full lips and a small, dainty nose – before letting the smoke escape oh so slowly. The urge to punch her continued to grow.

“In order to receive answers, one must ask questions first, wouldn't you agree?” Her damn voice was full of amusement. Somehow it was even worse precisely because there was not even a hint of smugness. The woman was simply entertained – and John was her dancing monkey.

It took a supreme effort to bite back the things he wanted to spit at her and take another deep, calming breath instead. He had to think about this rationally. Priorities.

“Where is the Illusive Man?” He asked eventually. It was a seemingly useless question, but John needed to make sure.

“I'm right here of course.” She confirmed, voice too teasing, almost flirting. As if that would distract from what she was actually saying.

“Then why _Illusive Man_?” John asked, curiosity momentarily peaked.

“Why not?” She shot back, and laughed, disturbingly warm at the dirty look he couldn't help but shoot. “It was a name given to me a long time ago by people who knew nothing about me. I decided to keep the title. You'd be amazed how useful it is to be thought of as male, it creates so many... interesting opportunities.”

John was willing to bet this woman could recite galactic laws and still make them sound like liquid sex. It was almost enough to distract him.

“So why tell me? Why not keep it hidden?” Because everything about that answer implied that was her SOP. Why tell John?

Another slow drag – skin a light tone, pale hair, nose the slightest bit crooked, broken? – those chilling eyes seeming to pierce his own, too vivid.

“Commander Shepard, is my gender truly what you wish to discuss? I would be delighted to accommodate you of course, but I am a busy woman and only have so much time. I cannot guarantee to answer all you questions if you insist on staying on a single topic.” The warning was delivered smoothly, the threat clear.

John felt another flare of annoyance, but dropped it. She was right, it didn't matter. But there were other things that did. And one question that needed answers above all others.

“Why did you bring me back?” John crossed his arms and leaned back. This was the heart of the matter, the explanation he needed most.

The Illusive Man took another damn drag – were those freckles? No, wrinkles, an older woman – and tipped the ashes off in what was probably a too expensive, handcrafted ashtray. John couldn't know for certain, the shadows still obscured his sight, but he was willing to bet he was right. Somehow this woman didn't seem the type to settle for anything less.

“Why do you think I did?” The question made him snap.

“No, that's not how this works. _You_ answer _me_. I have had it up to here, and either I walk out this door and tear down this entire station before booking it to Alliance Space or you start talking _right now_.” John didn't shout, didn't scream. He kept his voice even, his posture relaxed and he _dared_ this woman to call his bluff.

For an instant he thought she would, saw the thought flit through alien eyes and in one more breath filled brightness, saw the desire, the raw _hunger_ to do so.

The moment was over so fast John was certain he would've imagined it if not for the fact he was even more certain this woman knew exactly how each short flare of nicotine showed off her features. Every move she made was calculated. John refused to play her games.

And in her slow exhale, he read she knew that too.

“The Reapers.” Her blunt admission was almost unexpected. But honestly, how could it have been anything else?

John closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment, tipping back his head. It didn't feel like exposing a weakness, not to a woman who knew John's body more intimately then he did – who'd changed him _don't think about it_ – His muscles cooperated, too smoothly after the strain he'd put them through today – after two years _don't!_ – and tried to think trough the implications. There was both a wealth of information and an infuriating lack of in that one word. John needed more intel.

“What are the Reapers doing that has you so worried?” He settled on asking, because there would have to be something specific. She wouldn't have put in all this effort without something concrete.

“Right now? Nothing truly overt. There have been no sightings of any new Reapers, nor of their technology.” Bullshit.

John wanted to strangle this woman, but bit his tongue and held back instead. The Illusive Man was without a doubt the most infuriating being he'd ever had the displeasure of meeting. The sharklike smile as she breathed another quick glimpse only confirmed she was doing it on purpose. Bitch.

She extinguished her smoke and the disappearance of that small light made her eyes seem even brighter, even more unnerving.

“Tell me Commander, do you have any idea how many human colonies exist throughout the Terminus Systems and Attican Traverse?”

“I can make a rough guess.” John answered in a tone that said he'd do anything but.

“Indulge me.” It would've been a command if not for the naked promise it held. She _wanted_ him to snap. That made it a lot easier not to.

“About fifty or so.” He kept his answer short, not wanting to draw this out any longer than necessary.

“Officially, yes. Unofficially the number is closer to a hundred, ranging from settlements barely a thousand strong to cities numbering in the millions.”

And then she stood up.

John couldn't help it, his eyes instantly tried to drink in her appearance, even when it was useless, that damn chair still obscuring his vision. The only thing now allowed to be seen by the change of position was the silver glint of her hair. It was absurdly fascinating.

“In the last eighteen months twenty-nine of them went dark.” That got his attention.

“What happened to them?” Because this was something concrete. Something that could be reason enough to bring him back – _eighteen_ months, not twenty-four months and twelve days–

“We don't know. What we do know is that each and every one of them was abandoned by the time First Responders arrived at the scene. No signs of damage or struggle, no traces of blood or other abnormal DNA, no footage beyond an hour before they went dark. Entire settlements, thousands strong, left as if the inhabitants only went out for a quick walk.” Her description was chilling, made all the more horrible by the stark way she rattled off facts.

Those icy orbs pierced his own and this wasn't a game or dare. This was serious and John felt his rage ebb as dread began to claw up his spine instead.

“How many?” He didn't have to clarify, could only be asking about one thing.

“Two hundred sixty-eight thousand four hundred and twelve by our last count.” It was a brutal punch to the gut, so sharp John exhaled as if actually hit. Jesus fucking Christ.

“The Alliance –”

“Are a bunch of overblown fools more interested in whoring out humanity instead of protecting it. Useless. Worse even, they still believe Maranir was the first colony hit. It was the twenty-second.” Her voice was a razor, contempt dripping off each syllable.

But John couldn't believe her, didn't want to. The idea the Alliance – his _family_ – could've failed so many so completely was unbearable. The cracks he knew where there couldn't be so wide. The system he loved _couldn't_ be so flawed. Because otherwise, what had he been fighting for all this time?

John wanted to scream his denial. Instead he took a deep breath and slowly let it escape.

“What does this have to do with the Reapers?” He desperately hoped this woman wouldn't notice the tremor underlying every word, the choked back emotions clogging his throat. He knew she did.

“At first glance, nothing. The attacks are random, the targets remote. In fact, we believe it is the Collectors who are behind these assaults.” The desire to punch her was so great John could physically feel his palms itch.

“The Collectors?” It wasn't a question but a bitter curse spat out. John's fraying control allowed for nothing else.

“An alien race that lives beyond the Omega 4 Relay. I'm not surprised you haven't heard of them, few have. Most who do know of them think them a myth. I assure you they aren't. Usually they only appear every few decades, working trough intermediaries, offering their technology in exchange for seemingly random items or small groups of specimens with rare genetic profiling.” Oh, John wanted to punch her _so badly_.

He wasn't going to play along, not this time. When the silence stretched out he stared the Illusive Man down. His refusal to speak produced a short, soft laugh, too sweet by far to have come from this manipulative bitch.

And then the evil woman stepped into the light.

“There truly is nothing solid, no hard evidence. But there are patterns, buried beneath the data. If one pays attention, they form a disturbing picture, one far more sinister then even these events would suggest.”

He should be paying attention, this was all very important. And part of John was, processing the information and storing it away for later analyses. But most of his awareness was completely occupied with drinking in the Illusive Man.

After all the carefully orchestrated build-up, how could he not?

Body turned towards the side the slightest bit, allowing just enough light to play across her features to illuminate them but not enough to reveal all, her head tilted only a fraction more. The result was an older woman wearing a perfectly tailored suit that probably cost more then John made in a year, designed to show off her body at it's best. And it did so superbly, the play of light and dark enhancing her curves, riveting hints of color revealed by the star's slow death forcing the eyes to wonder every inch, from her high heeled feet to the simple silver pendant gleaming on her chest. Full lips, made vivid by a dark shade of lipstick, were curved in a barely noticeable smirk, managing to convey the amazing depth of satisfaction she got out of doing this. Long silver hair was delicately braided back, showing off high cheekbones and a dainty, and yes, crooked nose to their fullest effect. The imperfection only made her seem even more real, more alive.

John absolutely hated to admit it, but this was the most fascinating woman he had ever seen.

Not in beauty, though hers was an ageless kind, crows feet around her eyes refining instead of diminishing. But mostly it was the way she moved, the deliberate grace woven throughout every move, every twitch she made. This was a woman who was conscious not only of her every strength and weakness, but also exactly of how those were perceived by others. There was something very hot about that.

And in her deepening smirk John saw her revel in the response she was creating.

With forced nonchalance John raised a brow. Her answering chuckle was all the more disorientating for seeing it happen.

“We believe the Reapers and Collectors are connected.”

It took a moment to recall what she'd been talking about, but John refused to let this woman win.

“Even without proof?” Not the most intelligent rebuttal, but enough to let her know he hadn't been distracted. Too much.

“As I said Commander, the patterns are there.” The careless way she waved a hand was captivating after being denied the sight for so long. The slow jutting of her hips as she shifted balance even more so.

“So what do you need _me_ for? You could've trained an entire army for what you spend to bring me back. Would've gotten more use out of them too.” Because seriously, the moment he could John was _leaving_.

“I don't know about that, Commander, after all I need you for... many things.” Her eyes which had seemed so alien in the dark were now alluring as lips curved into a seductive invitation. It took effort to ignore the tensing of his body and John could feel a muscle in his jaw tick as he ground his teeth. Fortunately she continued almost immediately. “At the moment however I need you to go to the colony Freedom's Progress. They went dark not three hours ago, and we believe it's the Collectors.”

John snorted and crossed his arms.

“Do I look like one of your flunkies?”

“So hostile Commander, I would've thought you'd be overjoyed. All other first contacts were made well over two Galactic days later, _you_ can be there in just a few short hours. It is an unprecedented opportunity.”

“And you want me to, what, hop on a shuttle filled with your goons and search for, what was is? _Hard evidence_?” John made his tone as sarcastic as possible – which was pretty damn sarcastic if he did say so himself – but the infuriating woman only let out a small, mischievous smile.

“That is _exactly_ what I want you to do. Though I doubt Miranda and Jacob would appreciate being called goons.” Yes, because John cared so much about the opinions of evil minions.

“What's to stop me from walking out and hitching a ride to the Citadel?” He wouldn't of course, but God, this woman needed to _stop_ yanking his chain.

One elegant brow rose.

“Aside from that famous sense of morality of yours, absolutely nothing. You are free to walk out at any time.”

“Bullshit.” John's reply was instant. It made the woman laugh.

Head thrown back, the long line of her slender throat bare, vulnerable, her laughter was deep and rich. When their eyes met again he read merriment in the crinkles surrounding them.

“I'm being truthful, I assure you. You are not a prisoner, Commander, nor am I interested in any _unwilling_ services.” John's mind couldn't help but dive into the gutter, but he shook the thoughts away even quicker then they'd appeared. “I only wish for you to accompany a small recon team to a potentially hazardous location and report back any findings. But the choice is yours.”

John let out yet another frustrated breath. Damn it all. His conscience wouldn't allow him to abandon any colonist who might still be out there and he certainly wouldn't hand them over to _Cerberus_.

“Fine. I'll do it.” He managed to spit out eventually, the words leaving a bitter taste. The pleased grin that grew on the woman's face only made the feeling even more foul.

“Excellent.” She couldn't sound more content if she'd tried. "I have a shuttle waiting right now. Miranda and Jacob will brief you further."

And then she walked back into the shadows, obscured completely by that damn chair once more.

“That will be all Commander.” She _dismissed_ him.

John ground his teeth so hard he thought they would crack, fists clenched and every muscle tense. He wanted to throttle her, wanted to shake this horrible woman until she answered his every question, wanted to break that perfect composure and see her helpless, at his mercy. The intensity of his desire would've scared him if it were for anyone else then the person responsible for so many atrocities - for _Akuze!_ - As it was it was only the fact that they were speaking virtually that prevented him from acting out those urges.

So instead he spun on his heel, not bothering to wait for her to terminate the connection. It would feel too much like allowing her the final insult.

“And John?” The use of his first name stopped him dead, reluctantly forcing him to look back.

A metallic click broke the silence, small flame flickering to life as this agonizing, _enraging_ woman took the time to light another cigarette. Her inhalation was too loud in the quiet, expression calm and serene. She exhaled, slowly of course, and smoke danced through the air as they held each other's gaze, her eyes disturbing once more.

“I would appreciate it if you would not inform anyone of my true gender. Including my operatives.”

John snarled and stomped out of the room, the virtual illusion shattering as he swept through the doorway. The worst part was he knew, just knew, that right now she was sitting there, _smiling_.

John Shepard _hated_ the Illusive Man.

 

 

I – Project Lazarus, Phase 1: Complete. Phase 2: Initiating.


	2. The Start Of Something New

John stared across the vast open space, a spectacular view of stars shown to their fullest in this deep space station. Not even the nearest sun was bright enough to diminish any of the uncountable lights dancing through the dark.

John saw nothing of their splendor.

Instead images kept playing through his vision. The empty houses, unfinished plates of food left everywhere, beds still messy, a pacifier carelessly left outdoors. Freedom's Progress had been a nightmare, the very lack of any violence chilling in a way none of the other horrors John had seen over his long career had been.

Jacob had been right. It was a ghost town.

John felt his fingers twitch as he contemplated looking at the footage again. After a moment he dismissed the thought. 

The images of those swarms descending on the unaware colonists, seeing them freeze, trapped, helpless, was horrible enough. And afterwards, seeing them herded like cattle, meek sheep, no resistance possible...  
He'd already memorized the entire hour, 11 minutes and 23 seconds of reconstructed footage. But a morbid part of him wanted to watch it again anyway.

“The Illusive Man is ready for you now.”

Miranda broke his contemplation, making him straighten up from the slouch he'd fallen into. Nodding his acknowledgment he immediately stalked towards the same corridor as last time, feeling tension already creeping in. But John was determined not to lose his temper, not this time. Because in retrospect, that was exactly what had happened. And the worst part was he hadn't even noticed.

It was only after he'd gotten aboard the shuttle to Freedom's Progress that John had realized the Illusive Man had answered _none_ of his questions. Oh, she'd given a few hints, enough that he hadn't noticed anything amiss with his anger running hot. But after he'd calmed down he realized he still didn't know why he'd been brought back _or_ what the Reapers had to do with all this.

John had underestimated the Illusive Man and because of that she'd made him dance to her every tune. He'd been so determined not to play her games too.

As the door in front of him opened, John vowed to do better this time. When the holographic interfaces disappeared he was ready, looking straight into icy blue eyes hidden in the shadows.

“Commander Sheppard.” She acknowledged him. “Good work on Freedom's Progress. The quarian's omni-tool data in particular was most enlightening.”

John could already feel his simmering anger stir, just from the way she talked to him. As is he was one of her minions, blindly loyal to a fault and willing to grant her every request.

“I live to serve.” His retort was dry as dust and hopefully conveyed his desire to kick in all her teeth. This woman brought out the darkness in him, no doubt about that. He imagined she smiled.

“Indeed.” It wasn't a smile, but a purr underlining that single word. John bit his tongue.

He forced himself to keep standing at attention instead of the aggressive – defensive – posture he wanted to take, hands clasped behind his back and only his gloves preventing him from clutching his wrists to the point of bleeding. He _wasn't_ going to play.

“I found your proof. Now tell me what the Collectors have to do with the Reapers.” Because the horrible woman hadn't even answered that.

And because she was an evil bitch she took the time to light a smoke. As she took a moment to savor the taste – his own eyes drinking in the short burst of illumination – John resolved again he would not allow himself to be distracted. The game was on.

“As I said before, there is no _concrete_ connection-”

“Cut the bull and just answer the damn question.” She wasn't going to talk her way out of this, not again. So of course the woman took another nicotine filled breath.

And then she shifted, her eyes tilting to the side as she presumably crossed her legs, one delicate foot now visible, the light glinting of hint of gold hidden within her high heeled shoe. It was absurd how distracting that stupid appendage dangling in the air was. But after the way she'd wielded her looks last time John couldn't say he was surprised. It seemed to be one of her favorite weapons.

“We believe the Collectors are agents working directly for the Reapers and somehow possess the capacity to communicate with them.” That was... more then he'd expected.

“What makes you think so?” Because this was not a theory one formed _without_ hard evidence, no matter what she claimed.

Her foot began to tap to an imaginary beat.

“It would take months for you to analyze the relevant data, even should you choose to dedicate all your time to it. And even then I could not guarantee you would come to the same conclusion I did. There truly is _nothing_ I can point to that would validate my hypothesis. But do not make the same mistake both Alliance and Council did. The fact I have no proof does not mean I am wrong.” It was the longest and clearest answer he'd gotten yet, even though it didn't clarify anything.

But her voice was passionate in a way he hadn't expected, confident and sure. It made him want to believe her. John was beginning to understand how Cerberus had gotten to be so dangerous.

“Convenient.” He told her, just to see how she'd react.

She took another deep drag, allowing John ample time to see the bitter expression she now wore, the almost hidden grief lining her eyes.

“Almost as convenient as having a prophetic vision burned into your brain and no way of proving your delusional ramblings. A poor hero turned madman.” Her retort cut deep.

The fact Cerberus claimed both the Alliance and Council had washed their hands off him hurt. It was only the fact that it was, well, _Cerberus_ giving the intel which allowed him to cling to the – _false_ – hope they were lying. It helped him cope.

But John had promised himself he wouldn't allow her to distract him.

“Sovereign wanted to exterminate all organic life in the galaxy. I find it difficult to imagine the Reapers so interested in a few human colonies.” Yes, okay, an incredibly weak response. Anything to make the bitch elaborate.

“Just a few?” And John couldn't hide a wince at the pointedly casual question. But he didn't try to retract it.

The silence stretched as she took another smoke filled breath, her foot still tapping to that damn beat.

“Believe me or don't, Commander, the choice is yours. But if I am right, if the Reapers are behind the Collectors, then their fascination with humanity becomes a lot more concerning then it already is. Tell me Shepard, what use would the Reapers have for over two hundred thousand _living_ humans?”

It was a question that made ice crawl up his spine. Sovereign had turned people into living weapons, zombies, tortured, crazed and lethal. The husks had been abominations designed to straddle that narrow line between human and alien, and all the more difficult to kill because of it. It was one thing to shoot a pile of metal, another thing entirely to blast the face off what was still recognizable as a teenaged girl. John wished he didn't have to imagine alternatives worse then that.

“Humanity, _the galaxy_ , is up against the greatest threat of our brief existence, no matter how blind some with to remain. You and I know better. I will not allow humanity to fall because of cowering ignorant fools, nor because of personal feelings. The Reapers must be stopped, no matter what.” There was fire in that declaration, a core of unbending steel.

It would be so easy to believe her, allow the sheer force of her personality to overwhelm him, agree with all the perfectly reasonable measures she wished to take.

“There are lines that should never be crossed.” He told her instead and listened to her scoff, foot disappearing back into the shadows, her eyes looming even brighter as she leaned forward.

“There are no lines, not when it comes to the very survival of our species.” Her voice was a naked blade.

“There are _always_ lines.” His own voice was rough, arms now crossed in front of him, body tense.

She took another furious drag, so harsh he could count every individual wrinkle creasing her forehead as she shot him a look full of disapproval.

“I am not interested in discussing our differing philosophies Shepard. I couldn't care less _how_ you get the job done, only that you do.” And this time it was John's turn to let out a laugh, harsh and full of mockery.

“I don't work for you.” It was a pleasure to say so.

“But you do have humanity's best interests at heart, and the intelligence to understand the gravity of the situation we now face. We share the same goal Shepard.”

“Doesn't mean I have to work with you, or even stop destroying every one of your disgusting operations I come across.”

“Maybe.” She admitted, surprising him. “But ask yourself this, is it truly smart to sabotage one of the only organizations who not only believes your warnings, but also has the influence, resources and willingness to actually aid you?” Ah, now that was closer to what he'd expected to hear.

“And in return all I'd have to do is sell my soul.”

“A cheap price for the survival of our species wouldn't you agree?” He could tell she truly meant that. And the worst part was John agreed as well. In theory.

But he'd seen how easily power corrupted. Without oversight or limitations it was so very easy to lose sight of who you were, what you've become. No matter how noble your intentions.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I'll take my chances with the Alliance.” And at that the Illusive Man let out an explosive sight, giving John a glimpse of exhaustion as her eyes suddenly closed.

“If you can convince them, then by all means, please do. I have spent the last _year_ attempting to get those idiots to take this matter seriously and unfortunately have failed at doing so every time. They _want_ to remain ignorant.”

John snorted.

“And I'm sure Cerberus was very polite and transparent in their communications.” He said sarcastically. “You ever think about playing nice once in a while?”

The Illusive Man chuckled, her too blue eyes appearing once again.

“Diplomacy is great when it works, but difficult when everyone already perceives you as a threat.”

“I wonder where they got that idea.” His flat retort only made her laugh again.

“I'll admit, there have been a few... incidents between our organizations.” If that was what she wanted to call the blatant violations of intergalactic law, acts of terror and years of inhuman experiments, then sure, there were _incidents_. “However, I am not so fool as to approach the Alliance, or Council for that matter, under Cerberus' own name. I made sure the information about the Collectors reached the ears of several high ranking members of both Alliance and Council, always from different sources in no way connected to Cerberus and _they still ignored it._ Because until recently all the abducted colonies were _illegal_ they ignored the disappearance of over a hundred thousand humans! It was only after Maranir the Alliance started paying attention, and not until Babylon they started mobilizing. Babylon wasn't hit until a month ago! Are we supposed to sit by and let this happen? Wait patiently until the Council finally appoints a _committee_ to investigate these _unfortunate events_? I will not. I will dedicate my best resources to solving this catastrophe, to making sure our colonists are _safe_. If that brands my organization as terrorists, _then so be it_.”

The speech was heartfelt and all the more compelling for it. The articulate way she spoke, voice smooth and confident but filled with such deep emotions, such conviction, was mesmerizing.

It was a recruitment speech, one of the best John had ever heard, and if it hadn't been given by the leader of Cerberus it might've been enough to convince him. As it was John simply raised a brow.

“Right.” He drawled. “Very nice speech. Now what the fuck does all of this have to do with me.” The need to have that question answered _burned_.

He watched, anticipation making him even more tense, as the Illusive Man took another smoke filled breath, showing him her raised brow and the slightest hint of a smirk.

“I would've thought it obvious. I did say I would devote my best resources to this.” The desire to punch her shot through him abruptly, violent in it's intensity.

“I don't belong to you.” His voice was frigid, the deep rage her words invoked only barely suppressed.

But the Illusive Man carelessly waved his words away, hand visible only for that small gesture, fingers delicately holding her smoke.

“You are alive because of _me_. No matter what you choose to do next, you would not be able to do so if it wasn't for _my_ efforts.” Her cybernetic eyes seemed to cut straight through him. “You owe me.” The brutal words cut even deeper.

The worst part was she was right. It made John take a deep breath – stay calm, don't get distracted.

“What exactly is it you want from me?” John was proud of the even tone he managed to produce.

The Illusive man took another deep drag, enough to show the pleased curl of her lips. As smoke danced through the air she put out her cigarette and stood.

“The Collectors are currently our only link to the Reapers. Unfortunately, no ship passing through the Omega 4 Relay has ever returned.” She stepped into the light, seemingly completely relaxed. Her eyes never left his. “What I need is for a small team to go through the Relay, and more importantly, for them to come back.”

John could see where this was going.

“And you want me to be a part of it.”

“No, I want you to be in charge of it.” That was enough to knock him off-balance.

For several long moments John didn't speak, simply watched as the Illusive Man as her expression stayed calm, body language open.

“Why me?” John asked again eventually.

It was the question that haunted him – _Why? Why? Why?_ – and with every other answer he received to compulsion to know continued to grow.

The Illusive Man didn't speak for a long time, simply gazed at him.

“Because you are unique.” She finally offered and luckily continued before he could scream at her non-answer. “Not just in experience, but in what you represent. Like it or not Commander, you have become a symbol for humanity. More then that, you have become a symbol for how other species perceive humanity, the best and brightest we have to offer. Your every action holds weight, your every decision has consequences, far greater then those of any other human. _That_ is why I chose you.”

It was flattering how she described him, the importance she gave him. It also made him roll his eyes.

“I'm supposed to believe that?” He demanded and watched as her lips curved, chuckling and tilting her head – such a vulnerable illusion she could create with such a simple move.

“Of course not. But the fact you don't believe it does not make it any less true.”

John let out a deep sigh and gave in to the urge to rub his eyes. Let's think this through. Colonies have been vanishing for months, and despite no evidence, Cerberus believed the Reapers are behind this. If they are, then they needed to know why and how to stop them. And if the Reapers weren't involved, then they still needed to now why the Collectors were abducting humans and also how to stop them. Both options meant they needed more information. Which meant the Illusive Man was right, a team had to go through the Omega 4 Relay, survive, and report back any findings.

It was almost physically painful to admit. So John didn't.

“How are you planning on making sure the team returns?” He asked instead. The Illusive Man grinned in a way that told him she knew his thoughts exactly.

“First by assembling a team of some of the most deadliest people in the galaxy.” John was beginning to think this woman was physically incapable of giving a straight answer.

“And secondly?” John prompted.

“We need to make sure you can actually pass through the Relay. Our research indicates the Collectors use a highly advanced IFF system to manipulate it, one of the most prominent indications of their connection to the Reapers I might add.” Slowly she started to stalk – there really was no other word for it – towards him.

“And how will you do that?” His eyes carefully tracked her slow approach.

“There are some avenues we are currently exploring, but they are nowhere near complete. Assembling a team is your first priority.” John hated how she'd already assumed he'd accepted, but bit his tongue. “In addition you would continue to investigate any Collector activity. The more we know the better.”

She must've read something on his face because she rose a single brow and gave him a wry look, halting her approach.

“Of course, all this is assuming you accept this assignment.” The dry way she spoke told him she did indeed assume.

“I have a team.” He told her, voice deceptively light. The woman gave him an indulgent look.

“You've been gone for two years Commander, they've moved on.” John took a step forward, couldn't help himself. But she continued before he could interrupt. “However I will forward you their information and current locations, along with several dossiers of some of the finest and most talented individuals in the galaxy.”

John clenched his teeth, decided to let it go for now.

“Anything else?” She took another slow step forward.

“Two things. One of the people on that list is Sur'Kesh Jallanen Nel Karre Brekk Solus Mordin, a brilliant salarian scientist currently working in a clinic on Omega. Find him. Our intel indicates he might know of a way to counteract the Seekers' paralyzing effect. You'll need his help.” She was so near.

“And the other thing?” John took the last step, taking him as close as the virtual projection would allow. The Illusive Man tilted her head back a little, made sure to hold his gaze. It was disorienting to realize she was smaller then him, though it really shouldn't be.

She gave him a bright, mischievous smile, eyes crinkling, their unnatural and ever shifting patterns even more fascinating up close. He could even count the small freckles dotting her crooked nose.

“I found a pilot I thought you might like. I hear he's one of the best. Someone you can trust.” And with that the illusion fell away abruptly. John blinked, shocked and disorientated by the white tiles right in front of him, his nose almost touching the wall.

It was the sound of opening doors that broke him out of his stupor and startled, John spun on his heel. And then he stared.

“Hey Commander. Just like old times, huh?”

 

 

I – Project Lazarus. Status: Active. Project Phoenix: Initiating.

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr](https://loekas.tumblr.com/)


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